


Heavy Hangs The Head

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to be the Monarch. It’s not harder than chasing down Jack for three straight years, because nothing can ever possibly be that soul crushing and that tiring ever again. But even with that in her past, even with all her time in the desert, she still finds it difficult to be anybody’s leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Hangs The Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bannanachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bannanachan/gifts).



It’s hard to be the Monarch. It’s not harder than chasing down Jack for three straight years, because nothing can ever possibly be that soul crushing and that tiring ever again. But even with that in her past, even with all her time in the desert, she still finds it difficult to be anybody’s leader. 

PM’s a dutiful person though and even though this is one thing she would be happy to give up, she does her best to be the kind of queen she knows WQ would have wanted her to be. That means she wears a crown that never rests easy on her head and she sits in a throne that leaves her feeling sore and restless by the end of the day. It means she listens carefully to everyone who comes before her and makes a case for whatever it is they want, and she considers each request, no matter what it is or who makes it.

The thing about ruling is that you say no much more than you say yes. It’s not like it was in the desert when there simply wasn’t enough, and it isn’t like it was on Prospit either where there was just a limited amount of everything. There’s plenty to go around and yet people are still unhappy. Some people come and ask PM to give them larger pieces of land and other ask for titles or jobs that are already filled, or any of a dozen things that they don’t need but they want instead. Every day they come and every day she says no, over and over again. No, you will not be granted your neighbours land. No, there is no job here for you. No, we will not reconsider the request you made last week. The answer was no then. The answer now is still no. 

Sometimes, she suspects the people who come to her don’t expect a yes either. They just want an audience who will listen to them, sincerely listen, without interrupting or telling them to be quiet. PM’s an audience they can trust will hear what they’re saying, even if she can’t or won’t change whatever it is they think is the cause of their life’s trouble. Some people yell when they don’t get what they want, or cry or leave with shoulders slumped, but for every one of them, there are a dozen others who just nods and thank her for her time, leaving with a lightness they lacked when they entered. 

The troubles that are laid at her feet are heavier to carry than the crown on her head and that’s not a metaphorical weight either. Turns out that gold is heavy and wearing her crown more than four hours gives her a pounding headache. The best parts of her day are anytime she can take her crown off, and nothing brings her greater joy than seeing the last person of the day leave so she can do without it for the rest of the evening.

She misses her mail route and the constant walking that kept her active. Every night, she spends time in her chambers just pacing back and forth to try unknot her legs and feel at least a little tired by the time she’s ready to go to sleep. It doesn’t always work and she sometimes struggles through a day, fighting to stay awake and to keep listening to the person in front of her. 

It’s at the end of one of these days when one of her assistants (servants might be more accurate but PM doesn’t want to call them that. She hates the idea of being served by anyone) approaches her. PM recognizes her as the one who paints the palace and keeps everything looking fresh and nice. Though PM’s tired and all she wants to do is be away from people, she leaves the crown on her head and kneels so she can speak to the woman face to face. “How can I help you… I’m sorry, your name?”

The woman extends a hand to her and a friendly smile. “My name’s Ms Paint. And actually, your Majesty, I think I can help you.” 

Twenty minutes later, PM’s running laps through the running track they’ve installed in the palace’s back garden. It’s far more useful to PM than any amount of flowers and grass could be, and for the first time in weeks, she’s feeling good. Her heart’s pounding and her legs are burning from exertion, a welcome change from the usual aching cramps she feels. Ms Paint seems content to sit on the sidelines and watch as PM sprints around it and through the place that she thinks maybe have been full of rose bushes a few weeks ago. 

PM grins at her on her way bye, nodding as Ms Paint waves to her. This is everything she’s been craving for weeks. It may not making it any easier to rule these people or to lead them into an uncertain future, but it will certainly make PM feel better. And anything that gets her out of bed in the morning is a great thing.


End file.
